I spent five years having Saturday lunches with my mom and I missed those days a lot. It was on these Saturdays that the peculiarity of my mother’s sense of humor would shine adjunct to the reality of her physical decline. Yesterday, we loaded up old blue (my grandpa had a truck called Old Blue that my mother loved to talk about) and went to see Mimi as Tin knows her at her final resting place.

We took along a picnic and Tin’s recorder and some bubbles and Mardi Gras beads for her angel to wear and pink peonies to refresh her flowers.

Tin played her some tunes on his recorder and we poured her some ice cold Tecate. On a bright sunny day in Franklinton, Louisiana, where the redbuds and Japanese magnolias were chock full of blossoms we lay under the white puffy clouds of a Gulf Coast sky and hung out with my mom, a red dirt girl.

On the way, we passed a church whose marquee read: People may doubt what you say, but they can’t doubt what you do.

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